


I was born like this don't even gotta try

by cicak



Series: Coronavirus Decameron (WIP Amnesty 2020) [3]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Farce, Fuck Or Die, Holodecks/Holosuites, M/M, Size Kink, Speculative Cardassian Anatomy, WIP amnesty 2020, achievement unlocked, alpha meets size queen, but not an actual ABO fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:33:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23576218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cicak/pseuds/cicak
Summary: Even though everyone knows that holo-technology is used primarily for masturbation and only secondarily for emergency functions of starships, education on remote worlds and the smooth running of society, there still is a human prudery that lies within even Julian Bashir’s slutty, slutty heart that makes him very aware that he is bringing someone else into his literal id and inviting them, invitingGarak, to...fuck it.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Series: Coronavirus Decameron (WIP Amnesty 2020) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666177
Comments: 29
Kudos: 123





	I was born like this don't even gotta try

One of the better things about working on the most important Starfleet installation in the galaxy is that it's rare for any two days to be the same, and so it took a moment for Julian Bashir to realise that the uncomfortable feeling he was currently experiencing in his head wasn’t an alien delta wave or parasitic influence, but normal, human, deja-vu.

It had been a few years now since the intergalactic incident and mutual near death experience that he and Garak delicately referred to, if they referred to it at all, as ‘the wire episode’. (Well, Garak preferred to never mention it at all, and Julian liked to bring it up whenever Garak was being particularly secretive, so they compromised on Julian saying ‘the wire incident’ and Garak grimacing and saying ‘yes, yes’.)

Despite them having been through many more incidents and adventures, both before and after, for Julian there was this line in the sand, for it was there that their relationship changed. 

They still ate lunch together weekly, and Garak still was mysterious and teasing, and Julian still went over their interactions as he was falling asleep like there was something to decode, but after the wire incident, things had changed. Things had changed again after the whole holosuite incident too, not necessarily for the better, but the mean that they were currently regressing back to felt like the one post-wire.

On a station that frequently is visited by prophets, founders, and has been the site of several recent inter-quadrant significant moments, prophecy is not an unheard of side-effect of life on DS9. Perhaps a grumpy Cardassian in moderate pain is galactically significant in ways that Julian could not deign to understand. 

Or it could be temporal lobe epilepsy, his eidetic memory helpfully supplied. Chronic deja-vu is a classic symptom.

Still, it was lunchtime, in a busy replimat, and Garak was looking peaky, in his professional opinion. 

“I am fine”, Garak snapped, the third time Julian helpfully enquired as to his wellbeing, (casually, of course), before pulling himself into full disarming smarm. “All the better for being in your sparkling company, my dear.”

“You can’t fob me off with that again, Garak”, Julian said, fingers twitching for the tricorder he had left on his desk. “I’m not falling for the old agressive flirting schtick”, mentally adding the ‘again’ that lies on the tip of his tongue.

“My dear, I do wish one day that you will stop denying this whole situation between us. It is the 24th century. You really should be more culturally sensitive.”

“And which part of Cardassian culture should I be more sensitive to, my dear Mr Garak? The kind where you worm yourself into my heart to gain access to my command codes, or Starfleet’s deepest, darkest secrets? Forgive me, is this a cultural practice from outside of the main cities? Because I had been led to believe that it was through healthy disagreement that the Cardassian culture permitted such wanton displays of favour.”

Garak sighed heavily, stirring the food on his plate. “Ignore me, Doctor, merely headache induced petulance once again” and when Julian opened his mouth to point out that last time Garak had a headache he ended up nearly dying, Garak smiled and said “Self-induced” with that smile that implied much more than it gave away.

“Well, I can always help you out there. Whatever you need to feel more comfortable.”

Garak put his hands on the table and leant in.

“Is there a way to say ‘I really want to get you out of this uniform, it really is quite offensive to the eye’ without causing offense?” he mock-whispered, and Julian’s heart skipped a beat. 

“There’s a really terrible line that someone used on me in the academy. Choose a number between one and ten?” Julian said, eyes bright with mischief, really very interested in the ways this conversation had swung hot and cold, as well as the idea of exhibitionism.

“One” Garak replied, teasingly. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, you’re wrong! Take off your shirt” Julian smirked back triumphantly. It really was a very bad line. 

“Only if you do, my dear.”

“Sadly, today is a jumpsuit day, and so I would need to remove all my clothing to do so, and would that not be unfair? At least to the other patrons of this fine establishment” he said, gesturing to the replimat at large, by now fairly empty, lunch having dragged on.

Garak sniffed. “It is not my fault that the uniform department of Starfleet is staffed by people who don’t realise that the majority of Starfleet officers are bipeds with eyes, my dear.” He pressed his hands to his eyes for a moment, before standing up and collecting his tray. “I must finish my tasks for the day, and hopefully there will be no sartorial disasters, and I can close up early. As always, a pleasure.”

“Pleasure’s all mine” Julian replied.

“Oh I do hope not”, Garak purred, and slunk off, fully in possession of the final word.

They normally flirted, and if anything in the aftermath of the whole wire incident, the flirting had got more and more resembling a game of gay chicken than any other documented mating ritual Bashir had fervently studied during his cultural awareness module. Today though, today was practically Garak verbally grabbing his arse and asking for a slice. 

He had a long surgery scheduled for that afternoon, and so Julian decided to file this away for full consideration later, when he could give every second of their interaction a good, healthy, hard, over-analysis-to-the-point-of-obsession.

* * *

Julian’s deja-vu made its unwelcome return later that night when, exhausted from surgery and paperwork and the burden of medical command, he awoke from a very nice dream to find Garak in his quarters. Again.

“G’rak? Seriously?”

“I regret to inform you that perhaps I was not entirely honest about that headache,” Garak said, not looking very sorry at all. 

Julian desperately wanted to roll over and go back to bed, but professional curiosity got the better of him, and instead he sat up. “Go on”

“Yes well, I have developed some more symptoms, and other than the headache I have been experiencing some mood swings. And urges. I may have also not been entirely honest about the flirting, either.”

That was a surprise.

“And now would be an excellent time to tell me those symptoms, and maybe consider some honesty as well.”

It really is a delicate matter, Doctor. Both personally, and, well, for Cardassia’s reputation in the galaxy.

Julian groaned. “I suppose I should have expected this. God forbid the Obsidian Order give you some form of medical condition that could benefit you. Some kind of long-acting implant that ensured scale health or something.”

“My dear, surely by now you must know that my beloved Cardassia never had my _best_ interests at heart. They were more creative than that.”

Julian sighed, struggling into a sitting position and collecting his water glass from the bedside table. “Go on, I’m all ears.”

“Well, my dear, as you know by now, Cardassian sexuality is generally quite, quite dull. We meet, we marry, we mate, we make children for the state, we take a mistress, we die. All extremely patriotic and functional, as our literature attests. It wasn’t always like so, though. No, our ancestors were rather more interesting.”

“Spit it out.”

“Pesky regressive genes sometimes make themselves known. Vestigial _organs_ occasionally manifest, very much evolutionary dead ends once we had evolved a state and shame. Really, these things are usually taken care of around the time of puberty, a routine surgery to excise some excess tissue, all very outpatient and discreet, but well, my father always had other plans for me.”

Julian frowned, trying to read between the lines. “What aren’t you telling me, Garak?”

Garak inclined his head slightly, demurely, “My dear, there are so many things I am not telling you. My current condition is a mere side effect of the deactivation of the wire a few years ago, nothing more. Maybe it would have manifested earlier, but with my age, our circumstances, I’m not sure what exactly has caused this whole unfortunate situation to raise its ugly head. In hindsight, I feel childish waking you up with such a minor thing”. His performance concluded by looking down at his feet. 

“Garak…” Julian growled.

Garak huffed, smoothing his tunic the way he does when he is nervous. “My dear doctor, I have gone into pre-heat. If I don’t copulate in the next five hours, I will enter the final stage and die.” He sounded extremely put out by this, as if he was having to take the stairs in a turbolift outage that had dragged on into a second week.

“Can’t you, take care of it?” Julian groaned, slumping back. “You’re a grown man, Garak. Use your imagination.”

“My dear, if it was that easy I would not be in your quarters, arousing you from well-earned slumber. I fear I may have already done considerable damage to my cortex, not to mention there is a distinctive pain in the wrist that I cannot ignore for much longer.”

“Cortex?”

“Left unsatisfied, the heat will fry my brain.”

“Metaphorically?” Julian hedges.

“Both metaphorically and sadly, literally.” Garak replied, with that soft bow he always did for ironic emphasis. “The perils of being cold-blooded. Heat is not my friend.”

“Garak!” Julian jumped out of bed, bringing them nose to nose. “Come, we must go to the infirmary right now. You need to get on a biobed, and then into statis.” Knowing Garak’s inherent slipperiness, he grabbed his wrist to stop him from shimmering away.

Up close, Julian could feel uncharacteristic warmth radiating from Garak, an alarming sign from a person of reptilian origin. 

“My dear, that will not be possible. I assure you that the finest minds on Cardassia solved this problem a long time ago, and there is no cure once puberty has started, and unless you can take us back in time _several_ decades...”

“Well, then we need to go to Quark’s. You’re lucky the holosuites will be empty this time of night. It’s cliche, but Vulcan Love Slave 3 really is an improvement on what has come before, really avoids the usual sequel problems...”

Garak looks appalled. “I honestly would rather die, Doctor.”

“Well, it is that or go to the infirmary, and I will be abusing my medical transport privileges either way, so make up your mind now, Garak, or I shall make it up for you.”

The way Garak closed his eyes and sighed heavily in defeat did not bring Julian any of the usual satisfaction.

\---

It should have been a sign that something really was up when Garak came willingly into the infirmary after that. He even got on the biobed without complaining, although Julian couldn’t get him into a robe.

“The colours, my dear, I really cannot abide the _brightness_ in my delicate state. Truly, Bajor’s sense of taste proves that they belong in the Federation.”

“Are you sure?” Julian said, busying himself with the controls and not particularly listening.

“My dear, I would happily write them a reference letter ensuring so.”

“I will make sure to tell Major Kira that the planet has your support. Now, get dressed, the biobed can be strange with fabrics that have metal in them and…”

“This is the finest Lemurian wool, Doctor. I assure you it is a good insulator, nothing more”, Garak snapped, and he looked so upset that Julian ran the scan anyway, overriding the bed’s need for the conductive fabric to allow for the wider spectrum. He wasn’t going to be looking for anything microcellular anyway.

There are three biobeds in the DS9 infirmary, two of which are brand new, state of the art feats of engineering that the Federation gifted Bajor when they took over the station. Julian has read the operating manual cover to cover five times over the years, each time carefully hiding it away in case someone else reads it and realises that they probably don’t need him anymore. You could run Starfleet Medical itself with a fleet of modern bio beds and some EMHs for something for people to complain about.

Julian much prefers the other biobed. They only keep it around because it is specifically calibrated for Cardassians and Carjorans, and while the Federation beds talk politely to the station’s computer like diplomats at a garden party, the Cardassian bed refuses to engage in even the most superficial of conversations, and even five years in they have still have not yet been able to get it to give up its diagnostic knowledge so they can upgrade the other beds. Its knowledge is locked deep inside, as enigmatic as the Cardassian it currently holds.

The bed whirrs, and the display spits out a diagnosis, and Garak sighs and levers himself off.

Julian takes a moment to very slowly read what it is trying to tell him. Then he starts again.

It must have been longer than he had thought, because Garak does a discreet little cough and prompts “Well, Doctor?”

“It’s fascinating, your hormones are...well, there are similarities to other Federation species, Vulcans, for one, but this shouldn’t even be _possible_ given what we know about Cardassian anatomy.”

He looks at Garak. “I’m not going to say anything like ‘what are you not telling me’, because I don’t think we have that kind of time. So instead, how did you survive this when it has happened before?”

Garak shrugs. “The order had a few of us on the books. Someone had a fascination, and Tain did like to have a full set. Some...complementary pairs, if you follow. If you know how, triggering a heat isn’t necessarily difficult. One would do one’s duty, if you get my drift.”

“So they’d whore you out? Garak, that’s...horrible.”

“Nonsense, Doctor. You’ve never helped a brother in arms? Never needed comfort on a lonely night watch, or had too much adrenaline after a fight? It is quite the same thing. Just...messier.”

Julian scrunches up his nose. “Really, Garak…”

“Doctor, I am being as delicate as I can, given the circumstances. I could be course, if it would help in your comprehension?”

“That won’t be necessary. We had better get you to the holosuite,” and before Garak could object, Julian pressed a complex sequence into the computer and had them beamed into the bar.

“Really Doctor, it is practically next door”.

“I promised discretion, and you get discretion. This way, no one knows we’re here except the computer. Do you want me to have to go wake up Quark? You know Odo has his door alarmed if it opens before 0500.”

“How ingenious of him,” Garak sighed. “Well, let us get this over with.”

The bar is closed, the doors shuttered, and nothing but the emergency lights illuminate the space. Julian reaches behind the bar and pulls out the racks of holosuite programme crystals and Quark’s big index PADD. 

“Now, do you want to pick, or should I pick for you?”

“Oh please Doctor, go ahead.”

Damn, Julian thinks, I didn’t think he’d say that! The holosuite catalogue contains thousands of stories, most of which have at least an erotic arm to the plot tree if it’s not the main focus of it. 

After a pause, during which any passing telepaths would have received a greatest hits parade of Julian Bashir’s luxury wanks, he gets out Vulcan Love Slave 3, despite the way that Garak initially responded to his recommendation, and loads it into the computer. The click of the rod sliding into place seems to echo in the room.

“I can vouch for this personally” Julian says, with the smile that won ‘most winning’ four years running at medical school, which also led him to be voted ‘most likely to have a sexual disease named in his honour’ at their graduation party.

Garak gives him a quick, mirthless quirk of the lips, before squaring his shoulders, muttering something in untranslatable Kardasi and striding into the holosuite, head held high.

Julian pulls out his PADD and looks at the results of Garak’s scan again. He turns the PADD upside down, rotates the picture to get a good look, and then zooms in. 

If anyone else had been in the bar right then, they might have asked why he was sweating.

Garak returns ten minutes later, rushing down the stairs from the holosuite with a clattering noise that is unlike his usual silky, silent footfall. When Julian looks up, Garak is shaking his head, and there’s a tremor to his body, too. “My dear Doctor! Never let it be said...I am lost for words. That poor girl. No, it simply won’t do.”

Julian pulled up the PADD, and thumbed through to the story tree. 

“Okay, well what options did you take, actually, I have a couple of save states for my favourite parts, I should really have loaded those up, I just thought you would want to experience the story for itself...”

“My dear, perhaps I had not pressed upon you just how urgent this is. I cannot work my way through a narrative. The reality of being unable to contain myself, of feeling like I am about to brim over is distressing enough without having to seduce a hologram. And I will have to seduce them, won’t I?” He's talking to himself now, the brand of sardonic mockery that Garak always reserves for his greatest enemies, “It couldn’t be simple escapism, because to not do so would not be proper, and I would rather have a stroke over my embroidery than assault someone, even if they are a hologram.”

Julian starts to paw through the crystals. “Okay, okay, simple. Simple we can do.” He pulls out one and wipes the fingerprints off it. “This is simple. You go in, you have a choice of three women and three men. You walk up to the one you like, they hit on you aggressively, you can string it out as long as you need to feel in control, then there’s a convenient door and bed, and it is all extremely consensual and legitimate.”

Garak stares at him for a long moment, face utterly unreadable, but then leans over and presses the ‘load program’ button himself, and then walks quietly back up the stairs. Julian hears the doors open, a pause and a deep sigh, and then Garak’s footsteps and the door closing.

When ten minutes have passed and the interface indicates that the story tree is progressing into the ‘do not disturb’ zone, Julian lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and pours himself an extremely large drink from behind the bar and pays for it using his thumbprint. (Somewhere across the station, Quark stirs in his sleep, somehow aware he has made money but unsure of the provenance.)

He’s well into his second drink when the sound of the upper doors opening jolts him out of his careful reverie. Glancing over, Julian sees that the holosuite’s cleaning protocol is running, and so...that’s a thing. He downs his drink, then regrets it because he can’t work out where to put his hands and his throat is really dry and what do you even say to someone? Congratulations? Was it good for you? Can I ask which option Sir chose this evening?

By the time Garak got to the bottom of the stairs however, all the sarcastic and matey responses died on Julian’s tongue, because Garak looked terrible. 

“Oh no, didn’t it work?” Julian says, rushing over. 

“Don’t touch me,” Garak says. He swallows heavily. “Water, if you could?”

He downs three litre steins in a matter of moments and then shakes himself.

“Thank you Doctor”, Garak says. “While I am not...cured, I am feeling a little better. Perhaps sleep now, will be what I need-”

But Julian isn’t straight out the cargo hold, and already has the tricorder out. “No, I’m not falling for that one. Your vitals look just as dire as before, and your temperature has dropped less than half a degree. You’re still in the red. Do you want to try another programme? Maybe we could put you in stasis, while I do some research.”

“I think what I need is just to find the right programme. That one, while enjoyable, was too simplistic. Cardassian sex needs to have a mental component, some conversation at least, some teasing. Is there another on your list?”

“Yes, well, there’s one more we could try, but the tree is a little complex, would probably take too long, there’s only a couple of hours before Quark will wake up.”

“Unless you came in with me?” Garak pressed, “you could guide me through the story to get me to the optimal outcome, and then let yourself out once things got unprofessional. Put all those hours to good use, for once.”

Despite this feeling like a trap, Julian couldn’t help but see the logic, “Well, we could try it.”

* * *

Even though everyone knows that holo-technology is used primarily for masturbation and only secondarily for emergency functions of starships, education on remote worlds and the smooth running of society, there still is a human prudery that lies within even Julian Bashir’s slutty, slutty heart, that makes him very aware that he is bringing someone else into his literal id and inviting them, inviting _Garak_ to...fuck it.

The programme is slightly more complicated than Garak’s previous attempt. This was the first one he commissioned from Felix, and is extremely close to both his heart and loins. 

It’s a party, in fact a recreation of one of the parties that he and Felix had both attended. The party is a puzzle - every single person at the party can be romanced individually, and there are challenges available in the configuration for different configurations of groups, different approaches (seduce five people in a flamingo costume, for example). 

(Julian is one of the few people who have the platinum achievement in the whole holonet. He’s very proud of it. You can unlock his signature outfit in the sequel.)

This is the perfect choice, he thinks, smugly. He explains the gimmick to Garak with less emphasis on his own 100% achievement, and more on the unique and cerebral approach to seduction that he and Felix had worked so hard to perfect.

Garak doesn’t seem convinced. “Doctor, while I am sure this is a real feat of holographic programming _and_ erotic storytelling, perhaps you’ve heard of choice paralysis? There must be over one hundred potential partners here.”

Julian paused the program and pulled up the index. “Yes, but we can narrow it down. Okay, man or woman?”

“Hmm,” Garak pondered, looking at the mingling singles with an appraising eye. “Man, I think.”

With a flick, the females of the room shimmered out of view.

“Now, species? We’ve got representatives of the thirty most populated Federation worlds, plus Klingons, Romulans, Bajorans, and ooh I thought they were only in the sequel, there’s actually three Cardassians.”

“Let's go for them” Garak said, faintly, and barring NPC serving staff, the rest of the party faded away until they were left with three upright looking Cardassian military types, two Glinns flanking a handsome Gul, looking haughty over by the hor d’orves. 

“Now,” Julian said, digging into their source code with practiced relish. “I can give you some tips, if you want? It’s actually been a long time since I completed this bit, so I can’t remember.”

“You mean to say, Doctor, that you have...seduced these men already?”

“Oh yes.” Julian said. Unbidden, the computer brought up his achievement log. “Er, thank you computer. Yes, I have.”

He managed to dismiss the helpful interface quickly, but the log was up long enough to emboss three specific entries onto Julian’s eyeballs:

Stardate 47665.2 - Never Tickle a Schmoozing Dragon - Achievement Unlocked!

Stardate 49553.7 - Double Dragon - Achievement Unlocked!

Stardate 49553.9 - Triple Dragon - Achievement Unlocked!

The silence that followed was probably only a few seconds, but it felt one of the longest in Julian’s life, before Garak coughed politely and said firmly, “We will be discussing this at a later date, Doctor, but for now, I think I need to cut to the chase.”

Garak pulled the general plot interface up, and after a quick read of the hints for the Gul, instructed the game to proceed, walked over, seized the Gul’s glass of kanar, and downed it. 

Julian stared at his glass of champagne for a few minutes until his eyes completely unfocused, and watched as the shape of Garak and the larger of the two Glinns got into an argument and then ‘took it outside’. Then he let himself out of the holosuite, and poured himself another large whisky. 

Garak took longer this time, but not by much. He looked more rumpled, more exhausted and in a fouler mood than Julian had ever seen him when he gingerly walked back to the table.

Julian tries to ask him about it, unable to stop himself, but Garak just shoots him a filthy look. “Not today, Doctor. We will be discussing this later, but right now, I am not in the mood for literary debate.”

He collapses heavily at that point onto one of the chairs. “I am very tired, Doctor. Very tired.”

A scan showed what Julian was scared of, further, widespread deterioration. The time on hand was vanishing. Julian excused himself for a moment, and transported himself back to the infirmary, and after a moment’s thought, mixed together a hypo in record time, before beaming back. He was half hoping that Garak would have vanished in his usual infuriating way, but he was still there, slumped slightly and wincing faintly, eyes closed in the half-light of Quark’s, face slack with erotic disatisfaction. 

Julian dropped down onto his haunches next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Garak. Garak. I have a hypo, it’s mostly just minerals and salts, and some enzymes, a fever-reducer, and a bit of sugar, to keep you going. Are you okay for me to give it to you?”

Garak nodded, and didn’t even wince at the hiss. 

They sat together for a few long minutes. Outside, the station began to stir from its sleep cycle. The promenade uselessly simulated the rising of the Bajoran sun, casting shadows through the long slats of Quark’s security shutters. 

Garak swallowed against nothing, and his eyes fluttered open. “Thank you doctor”, he said. “I do feel like that did some good.”

A few minutes later, and it seemed like Garak was right. He seemed back to his normal self, paging back through the holo-menu with sarcastic colour commentary.

Another tricorder scan revealed that while he was doing a bit better, Garak was still dangerously warm and terrifyingly aroused, professionally speaking.

“How are you still holding it together?” Julian boggled, despite himself. “Even without unique biology, this level of heat in your body should be doing some sort of damage, even without the threat of being consumed by pure animal lust, and yet you’re still extremely polysyllabic.”

Garak sighed. “I can only imagine it’s because the required reagent is not present. If you were in heat as well, as my opposite, my complement, the omega to my alpha in your religious parlance, then we would not have made it out of your bedroom. We would have both been reduced to nothing more than grunting, sweaty animals and you would have definitely missed your shift. Likely, Odo would have been required to separate us.”

That awkward silence was back. Julian coughed, “I’m not a Christian, Garak, but I’m not sure entirely that is what the Bible implied with that passage, but okay, I get it.”

He sighs and rubs his face. His shift is in four hours, Quark will be here in less than an hour, and Garak will be dead in 90 minutes. 

“This is ridiculous. The Bajorans have a society that idolises religious sacrifice, a decent dose of shame, a recent half century of oppression and a rich literary history. How is there _not_ _porn with Cardassians in it_?”

“Other than what you commissioned, you mean,” Garak said, slyly.

“Yes, Garak. Apart from my own depraved human tastes.”

“You cannot judge everyone by your own race’s obsession with sexual humiliation, my dear. The Bajorans are a proud and noble people, and we know now that they are very into wind chimes and what you quaintly term ‘the missionary position’. Fitting, given their devotion to their ancient religion.”

Julian slumped, hands under his chin. “Okay, tell me, what is Cardassian porn like? I’m imagining something quite Gul-focused. A matching codpiece to go with that ostentatious armour. Or some kind of noble sexual sacrifice, dutifully doing it for the good of the state.”

“Oh, well, we are a creative people, more like humans than Bajorans in that respect. There are certainly military themed holo programs, or stories about being compelled to reproduce for the good of Cardassia. A significant subset does deal with the situation we find ourselves in right now, however.”

“In what way?”

“People like me are curiosities, we generally do not exist in modern society, but our early literature does focus quite a lot on what it was like to be taken by a fully intact man, if you know what I mean.”

“I...must confess that I don’t,” Julian lied.

“Did you not _look_ , doctor, when you took that scan? How noble of you, if a little ridiculous given the circumstance.” Garak sighed. “Very well, the historical Cardassian male owns a _large_ reproductive organ that is notable for getting larger as he gets closer to orgasm. Much is made of the feeling of being filled by such a man, who is in full rut, barely in control of his senses, his scales flushed dark with blood and flexing with his erotic power, and even though he is consumed by the power of his rut, he is still holding on until his partner comes, but oh, the partner feels that they cannot take much more, surely it cannot get any _bigger_ , he can barely stand it, and then the rains come, or some similar euphemism, and he feels wrung out completely, but then his lover comes and there is _so much_ , he’s completely full to bursting, he can taste it in the back of his throat there’s so much, and afterwards it is all very erotic and wet and dripping, and really, the state doesn’t come into it until much later.”

There is silence, and Garak smiles to himself as Julian struggles for words, his eyes transfixed on the index PADD.

“Um. I don’t suppose that Quark has any of those programs?” Julian said, casually.

“I didn’t recognise any of the titles in the database.”

“That’s a pity.”

Finally, Garak leans over, hand hovering over the rods for a moment, and then selects a programme from its holder, sliding it out of its caddy and slipping it into Julian’s hand.

“Here” Garak says, quietly. “I think this is just the thing I need.”

He sounds so sad and broken that Julian doesn’t even look at the rod as he loads it up in the computer, only registers that it’s one of his. Just slides it in, presses the button and waits for the distinctive chime that indicates that the program loaded correctly. Garak takes his hand, and as the first voices echo across the promenade, he follows. They reach the door and Julian presses the button to open it, and steps back to allow Garak to go in first, before taking a deep breath and follows Garak in.

The Hong Kong simulation is always night, and the lights of Tsim Sha Tsui glitter across the bay. The room looks as it always does, mid-20th century glamour and bachelor opulence, all very familiar, apart from the lusty Cardassian standing in the middle of the floor. 

“This - this isn’t - hmmn!!”

Over the months since taking delivery of the _Secret Agent_ programme, Julian’s kissed a lot of hard light in this specific simulacrum, including some representations of his coworkers, but kissing Garak is a different quality of hardness altogether. 

God, it’s one _hell_ of a kiss. James Bond himself would be melting under its attention, Queen and country forgotten, and not just because of Garak’s heated fever. There would be one hell of a double-entendre if this was not real. Garak is talented, he’s focused, he’s incendiary. It’s intense, the whole thing is too much but perfectly balanced. He’s not being slobbered over or eaten alive, but everything is close to being a little too much, just the right side of taking him from “going to wank to this for the rest of my life” to “must come now or I will die”, and so, under its influences Julian can do nothing more than cling on for dear life.

Just as Julian thinks that he might actually come from this kiss alone, Garak tears himself away and rumbles right into Julian’s ear, “the time for proxies is over, my dear. Now, do you feel ready to be filled, or do we have to take this slow?”

“Garak!” Julian cries, overwhelmed. “How...I didn’t know you had it in you”, he whimpers, the entendre slipping out.

“It’ll be you who has it in you, my dear. I can smell you, I can _see_ you,” and at that Garak touches him, cups him strongly through his pajamas, “you really must let me make you some more discreet sleep clothes, my dear, you’ve been aroused since you first heard about my little dilemma, but it’s more than that. It’s more even than the professional curiosity after you took that scan, or after I gave you that little talk about context, or after I saw your secret Cardassian fetish. No, you are aching for _me_ , you want _me_ pressing inside you so badly you can barely think straight, and luck has it that I have a matching set of desires and impulses. Really, rather good luck. It’s not often that either of us gets what we truly need and want at the same time.”

Julian wanted to say yes, to confirm, but what came out was more of a moan than any word in any language the translator could understand. That and the grinding, the touch, the way that Garak was breathing all this heavily right into his ear which seemed to be directly linked to his cock as much as his right hand is, and Julian worries again for a second he would come right there, without all the things that this encounter has promised him, Garak’s weight on pinning him down on the banquette against the window, the promise of a huge cock that would get even bigger after it had been carefully wedged into his guts, pressing on all his flesh at the same time, filling him with enough hot come to make him hollowed out - he closed his eyes and kissed Garak, undoing his clothes and pulling him down on top of him, wriggling and writhing until he’s naked, rooting around the seat for the lube the program kept there for a plot thread suspiciously similar to the one he found himself in, Julian Bashir, desperate and undone, getting fucked against the Hong Kong skyline by a member of a hostile government.

Garak, for all his years of flirting and professions of ignorance as to human culture, somehow gets his fingers coated, and demonstrates expert knowledge of the exact location of the human prostate and was very, very good at rubbing on it with his well-manicured fingers, claws cut very short as if, somehow, this was all _planned_ , until Julian was oozing copious quantities of come against his stomach and moaning non stop encouragements for Garak to stop fucking teasing him and show him his mythical genitals already.

Naked, Garak’s prick rose like a colossus from the natural harbour of his thighs, strong and ridged and thick, and Julian’s mouth goes dry at the slackness in the skin, the space that promises the growth, the increase that hours ago he had no idea was the thing he wanted most in the goddamn universe.

It is, if anything, more impressive than even Julian’s imagination could fabricate. Felix is going to have a field day when he gets the logs. The perverts of the alpha quadrant might even name the fetish after him.

Julian braces himself against the skyline, and dedicates himself fully to rigorous, nay, vigorous, primary research.

It takes a lot of heavy breathing on Julian’s part and gentle petting on Garak’s part (after all of Garak’s initial crooning encouragement was nixed because it was too much) before then he’s moving, just a small nudge at first, maybe just a millimeter of movement, but god, Julian shudders, a whole body shudder, and it’s not even pleasurable, it’s just momentous, there is a huge cock wedged inside him at 0500 on a Tuesday morning, he’s sweating and his brain is just firing on a circuit of Garak’s voice from earlier pondering ‘surely it cannot get any bigger’ over and over, the promise of this, already so much, not being all of it…

He flips open the tricorder and sets to wide range scan, watching the readings as Garak starts to move, starts to thrust, and watches his temperature stabilise just as Julian’s own starts to rise, as if his body is absorbing the illness from Garak, healing him. 

Garak chuckles, “ever the scientist, my dear,” before bucking his hips hard, and Julian groans, because that was his prostate this time, and his dick spurts uselessly, his whole body convulsing and this orgasm captured by the scanner, his and Garak’s vitals building like a wave still. 

“Pay attention now, my dear, because” he grunts, “you might start to feel it”, as if everything up to now was just a taster, and just as he starts to reply sarcastically, something shifts within him and Julian _does_ , feels an increase of pressure deep in his guts, around his poor, stretched hole, and groans instead, gives up on doing anything but feeling it and taking it and enjoying it.

Garak grunts, and then grinds out, “point of no return now, if you do not want me to finish in you, let me know” and when Julian wordlessly grinds his approval back against him, murmurs “very well, dear” and then keens his orgasm, biting at Julian’s shoulders as his hips buck hard, pumping right into the heart of him, Julian so full, so blissfully, impossibly fucked he can’t do anything but laugh, watching the tricorder lights dance on the edge of his vision as Garak’s temperature finally, finally, drops to normal levels.

* * *

Julian abuses his medical transporter credentials a final time to get them out of Quark’s before Rom’s virgin eyes were further defiled by the sheer amount of spunk smeared across holosuite two when they finally close the programme and Julian releases the top-level medical privacy lock on the door. 

In the privacy of his quarters, Julian falls face first onto his bed, utterly exhausted, completely spent, spent beyond his wildest dreams, sore and bitten and thoroughly fucked by a cock just as legendary and profligate as the legends foretold. 

Just as he fell into exhausted, fucked-out sleep, he could swear he could hear Garak humming a pleased little song as he pottered around tidying up.

* * *

No one questioned his missed shift. Apparently, he had called in sick with a migraine in good time, suspiciously before even he had thought he would miss the shift. 

For a whole day, he thought that maybe he’d got away with it. He filed his report, made the retroactive case for each medical transport he had authorised, and crossed his fingers that maybe the prophets would smile upon him, just this once. Meanwhile, Garak doted on him, rubbing his sore muscles and feeding him traditional Cardassian foods and telling him outrageous lies about ancient Cardassian culture in between kisses and several long, torturous hand jobs. 

Garak finally left his quarters around 2600, sneaking away and Julian fell asleep so deeply he almost missed his shift again through exhaustion. 

Five minutes before the end of the day, just as Julian was counting down the seconds before he could go and drag Garak back onto a horizontal surface and sate the gnawing desire to be thoroughly fucked that he’d been nursing all day, endlessly reviewing the tricorder readings until he’s sweating just thinking about graphs, he got a comm from ops to come and speak to the Captain.

“I’ve had a complaint,” Sisko said, once the doors of his office slid shut, “from Quark. About out of hours holosuite usage. He wants to bill Starfleet directly.” He pauses, reading verbatim from his screen so as not to meet Julian’s eyes, “for the excessive power consumption, loss of earnings, oh and what was it, right here, this line, for cleaning of the holosuites _and_ the holosuite cleaning apparatus.” 

Julian swallowed. “It was out of hours medical treatment, sir. Really life or death. As I detailed in my report...” 

“Yes, I read your report. But this bill, Doctor, this bill is itemised. There are threats in this bill, threats of samples, threats of recordings.” Sisko pinched the bridge of his nose. “I have simultaneously had a complaint from Constable Odo. It doesn’t have any specifics, other than noise levels around your quarters have reached unacceptable levels, but while this one lacks written specifics, it did come with a very, very irritating speech pontificating on the futility of certain forms of reproductive acts, that I had to personally endure.”

Sisko picked up his baseball and tossed it pointedly in the air, in a way that made Julian aware that it was only through professionalism that said ball wasn’t currently bouncing off his head. Sisko caught the ball and inspected the seam. “What can I do to make this go away? Or more, what can you do to make me want to make this all go away, hm?”

“I’ll speak to Quark”, Julian said, but Sisko continued to examine the ball as if the stitching was endlessly fascinating, “...and Odo...and Garak...and my neighbours...and myself? And promise to never...I mean...promise you’ll never hear about this again?”

“Thank you doctor,” the Captain said. “I sincerely hope we never need to mention this again. Please do give my best wishes to Mr Garak, we all hope he makes a speedy recovery.”

As Julian heads down into the promenade to go and make good with Quark for egregious abuse of the facilities, he catches Garak’s eye as he busies himself in his shop, and blushes deeply when Garak bows, eye ridges quirked, with a knowing smile across his face.

**Author's Note:**

> My WIP amnesty continues with the actual first DS9 fic I started back in November 2016, which has been slowly added to on and off for the last four years under the title DS9 ABO WTF BBQ. I know I consider every extravagant porn-farce I write to be deserving of the title 'filthiest thing I've ever written', but guys, I think this could be a contender. 
> 
> Title is of course from Juice by Lizzo, and if you'd like to come yell at me about this whole situation I'm on tumblr at [cicaklah](http://cicaklah.tumblr.com).
> 
> If you like this, please leave a comment and tell me!


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